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“The photograph,” she says, reminding me as to the reason she is here. But why settle for a photo, an image captured within the tightly knit fabric of time, when I can have the real thing?
“We will get to that later,” I say, and walk her through the corridor toward the grand staircase. I planned to speak to Chelsea in my home office, but with Malachi’s untimely visit that is no longer an option. I lead her to the next best place.
The air is warm as we step out onto the balcony, and although the view of the sea is shrouded in darkness, we can still hear the crashing of the waves in the distance. Chelsea steps from my hold, and I unwillingly let her go. She doesn’t speak and just stands at the stone handrail peering out into the dark nothingness.
Craving her touch, I stalk close behind. I stop walking when I am only inches away and stand perfectly still as the wind whips up long tendrils of her hair.
“Chelsea.” I whisper her name and capture her shoulders in my hands.
“What are you doing?” She flinches, and immediately pulls away.
“One million pounds,” I say simply.
Chelsea’s eyes widen. “For my photo?”
“One million pounds for the photo, and—”
“And what?” Her words are filled with hope, hope that I will be able to give her the funds to reopen her shop.
I step forward and swallow away any remaining reservations. “One million pounds for ‘Timeless Beauty’, and a night with you.”
She doesn’t speak, and I wonder if it’s because she is overwhelmed. I open the lapel of my jacket, about to pull out my chequebook when Chelsea takes in a sharp inhale. “No.”
I quirk a brow. My brother put me up to this, but still, her one-word answer leaves me somewhat baffled. “No? Is that all the answer I am to expect?”
The wind blows more fiercely now, whipping up her hair from all different directions. In this moment she looks strong, empowered, and tantalisingly sexy. “I hate you, Lucian Calloway, and no amount of money would ever tempt me into your bed.”
Chelsea
Present day
“Ican’t believe you’re leaving me,” I say, sinking down on the bed.
My roomie, Tyler, glances at the clock on the wall and waves exaggeratedly. “Yes, darlin’, in exactly thirty-three hours I will be boarding my plane. I’ll be back before you know it.”
I capture his hand and pull him onto the mattress so he’s sitting beside me. With our fingers interlinked, I look straight into his eyes. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? Cleaning out your entire life savings to fly halfway across the world is crazy when you’ve only known Mason for six weeks. I mean, how can you really know a person in that time? How do you know he isn’t some kind of crazed serial killer?”
Tyler shrugs. “I guess I don’t. But what is life for if not for living? And you can’t live life to the full without first taking a little risk.”
A shiver skates the length of my spine, chilling me to the core. “You can take risk without being decapitated, cut into tiny pieces and thrown into the ocean.”
Tyler’s laugh is explosive, and it travels to the pit of his stomach, causing the mattress to bounce. His eyes crease at the corners as he makes a fist with his hand and gently nudges my cheek, turning my face to the side. “You watch way too many murder documentaries.”
Tyler stands, and from this I gather he is done with the conversation. I, however, am not. I won’t sleep at night knowing I haven’t at least tried to talk some sense into him.
“Maybe I do watch too many murder documentaries. But can I remind you that they are factual?” I tell him, or rather his back as he turns away from me and begins emptying clothes out of the dresser. “Meaning they are based on true events,” I add.
“So, write me a eulogy,” Tyler says, waving me off. He pulls a polo shirt from the drawer and throws it for me to catch, my cue to fold it and place it in his suitcase. I fold it backwards, making sure to keep the defined neckline of the collar.
I’m about to speak but jump as heavy material lands on my head, sending me into a kaleidoscope of colour.
“Sorry, my bad,” Tyler calls.
Yanking the item off, I notice it’s his sequinned onesie. “You aren’t seriously taking this?”
“Of course I am, darlin’. You made it for me, so I shall wear it with pride.”
Pride is exactly the reason I made the multicoloured onesie for him in the first place.
